


Love Doesn't Change Anything

by cullenlovesmen



Series: Bi!Cullen fics [21]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bittersweet, Chastity Vows, Choices, Hopeful Ending, Love and Duty, M/M, Secret Relationship, Somewhat Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen
Summary: Cullen was never one to look at a person and wish them his. No, he’s nearly immune to beauty's allure. Only true devotion, a sense of kinship, awakens desire within him. And now his heart aches at that curve of neck, that soft brogue, and those striking blue eyes looking back at him. His stomach curls at those expressive lips, the way they tilt to tell a story, and his face heats at those dimples in Sebastian’s cheeks when he laughs. But most of all, the soul that body houses has him weak at his knees. There’s no sense in saying it out loud — this thread between them could snap at any moment — but it’s true all the same: he loves.It doesn't change anything.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Sebastian Vael
Series: Bi!Cullen fics [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1124577
Comments: 15
Kudos: 23





	Love Doesn't Change Anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McLavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/gifts).



> This is simultaneously a prompt fill for McLavellan (“don’t give me space. that’s the last thing i want with you.”) and an entry to [Spring Into Love 2020](https://spring-into-love.tumblr.com). 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this! <3

The corridors of the chantry are dark as Cullen hurries past doors, seeking the one he’s slipped through so many times before, itching with need and urgency. It doesn’t bode well for the night; his skin is hot under his tunic and linen pants, heart pounding, lip bitten to the point of soreness — but he’s not an animal. He can rein it in, he can control himself, always has, all he needs is... 

He knocks twice, just a light rap. 

The door creaks open after a beat, and Cullen stares for just a moment too long. Maker. Yes. This is where he needs to be, and sea-spray eyes reflect his joy of connecting. 

Sebastian doesn’t say a word — he doesn’t have to, Cullen knows oh-so-well how it’s been too long, how he’s missed — but pulls him against his chest, wrapping his arms around Cullen like he’s waited forever. Oh, it’s been forever, indeed. This is all Cullen thinks about day in and day out; waking up to an ache of empty arms; sleeping fitfully; mournfully alone in the night. 

And then there’s this: when two halves meet and unite, if only for a moment. If only in secret, in this temporary, fragile embrace. 

Sebastian smiles against Cullen’s neck, whispering love into his skin. 

  


* * *

  


This is how they always end up: on Sebastian’s bed, tangled together with miles of fabric between, heated faces pressing together when their bodies can’t. It’s enough. It’s good. They speak of their day, lips brushing skin, hands rubbing arms and backs, and never once does Cullen press onto where his touch isn’t needed.

Not before tonight. And it’s not him approaching dangerous territory: Sebastian grabs his hand and moves it lower, lower, and lower, until it rests on a buttock. 

Cullen’s breath hangs halted in his chest.

He wants to ask, but the look in Sebastian’s eyes stuns him to silence. It’s that same need Cullen never voices, never gives into; it’s all too easy to recognise. Only he hasn’t seen it on Sebastian; hadn’t known how devastating its effect would be. Nothing quite pains him as much as saying, “don’t...” 

Sebastian blinks, swallows, and relaxes his grip. “I thought—” he shuts his eyes, burying his head in the pillow, “never mind what I thought. I’m sorry.”

Cullen slides his hand higher on Sebastian’s back, a strange taste in his mouth and not a word to say. He holds on, willing himself to forget the shape so briefly under his hand. 

  


* * *

  


“Elthina says she would like me back,” Sebastian doesn’t turn around as he speaks, merely carries on packing, “but she won’t let me retake my vows and go back to my duties. She believes little of what I say.”

Cullen doesn’t hear most of it: his eyes are fixed to the half-empty trunk, heart throbbing in his throat. Before he can think better of it, he wraps an arm around Sebastian’s waist and brings them close together, burying his face in his hair. It’s too close and tight, bordering on indecent, but he needs to feel him. Just for a while, before the inevitable.

“And I’m so...” Sebastian puffs out a breath, melting into Cullen’s arms. “I’m so tired of fighting, love.”

The pit of Cullen’s stomach drops. He wants to hold on tighter, to stop him from leaving, but that’s selfish. Instead, he gathers the courage to ask. “So, where will you go?” 

“I need some time to think about it. Hawke has an extra room,” Sebastian grabs Cullen’s hand, brings it to his lips, “and you’re welcome to visit me there.”

  


* * *

  


The Amell estate is large and elegant, full of memorabilia and books. It smells like history. Garrett Hawke, its present owner and the Champion of Kirkwall, merely lifts a brow as a dwarven servant ushers Cullen in. They nod at each other politely, but before Cullen has the chance to conjure awkward small talk, the man’s gaze slides back to the book in his lap. Sebastian materialises out of thin air and pulls Cullen by the hand, leading him to his room.

They have tea and discuss their day. Sebastian looks so strange in his shirt sleeves and linen pants; almost happy without the heft of his armour or the prestige of his robes. Cullen steals looks at the open neck, traces the bobbing of sweet skin as Sebastian swallows. 

It was easier when he didn’t feel this way — Cullen was never one to look at a person and wish them his. No, he’s nearly immune to beauty's allure. Only true devotion, a sense of kinship, awakens desire within him. And now his heart aches at that curve of neck, that soft brogue, and those striking blue eyes looking back at him. His stomach curls at those expressive lips, the way they tilt to tell a story, and his face heats at those dimples in Sebastian’s cheeks when he laughs. But most of all, the soul that body houses has him weak at his knees. There’s no sense in saying it out loud — this thread between them could snap at any moment — but it’s true all the same: he loves. 

It doesn’t change anything.

They talk for what feels like hours, drifting ever closer until they press together on the bed. 

  


* * *

  


Cullen could fall asleep here, Sebastian’s warm back fused to his chest, and be woken by the servants before dawn, be back in the Gallows before anyone noticed he’d spent the night elsewhere — but no, how could he? It’s unthinkable there’s no risk of interruption, no threat of discovery hanging over them; it’s something to be savoured.

It’s almost like they are any other lovers, holding one another as the darkness of night creeps in. 

Cullen counts Sebastian’s breaths, draws in the scent of his hair. Their fingers are entwined; thin fabric separates their bodies. It’s enough. It’s good. It’s more than the stolen moments they had in the chantry dormitories. 

But Cullen loves, and so does his body, and when Sebastian presses against the evidence and rubs, he can’t bring himself to move away. 

“Do you want me?” 

Cullen thinks he’s about to laugh, but what comes is a little whine, almost wounded. This is so unfair. Of course he wants him, but— “You want the chantry.”

Sebastian hums and squeezes his fingers. “Well, the chantry doesn’t want me, and that wasn’t an answer.”

Cullen screws his eyes shut and buries his nose deeper into Sebastian’s hair, trying not to think of where they’re connected. The Maker has a savage sense of humour, offering him this when it’s what he most desires and the last thing he can take. “More than I can say. But the price is too high.”

He doesn’t say he’s afraid — terrified, even, of stripping away Sebastian’s reasons to stay. Broken vows do not a Brother make, but do they hinder a Prince?

Sebastian falls silent, fiddling with Cullen’s fingers before he kisses them one by one. They don’t talk the rest of the night; a grim sense of inevitability hangs in the air as they breathe in unison. Cullen folds every moment into memory.

  


* * *

  


The days in the Gallows are silent and grave, filled with paperwork and catering to Meredith’s every whim. He can do it. He’s done it before and it’s no different now, even as her writs get ever wilder. Cullen fills his duties, and sees to it that everyone else does the same. If he lays awake at night and stares at his empty arms, it’s his business alone.

He never returned to the Amell estate after that night; he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. How could Sebastian expect him to give into desire and squash his chances of rejoining the chantry? The thought alone makes his stomach coil; he loves, he must do what is right. 

A little voice in his head says he’s selfish, but he muffles it. 

Weeks roll by in dreary isolation, the grey rain clouds hanging over Kirkwall creeping into Cullen’s heart. When an envelope finds his desk, he opens it in unhurried, indifferent movements. When Sebastian’s looping handwriting peeks beneath the paper, monochrome bursts into infinite colours. 

He grips it too tight, smudging a letter under his thumb, breath caught in his throat.

_My love,_

_I’ve come to see the error of my ways, and I must apologise. I let my pride be wounded by your refusal when it was evident you were merely considering my best interests. However, I have made big decisions regarding my life now, and I would like to see you to discuss them. Have you time to meet me tonight? You know where to find me._

_Yours,  
S._

Cullen’s eyes blur as he reads the note over and over. He knows what this means. His fingers shake as he folds the paper and slips it beneath his armour. 

  


* * *

  


Sebastian’s thumb brushes at Cullen’s cheek, moist eyes matching Cullen’s own. He straddles Cullen’s lap, strong thighs squeezing him tightly. So robust, so alive, so lovely. 

Not his. Never was. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Sebastian catches a falling tear, lips curling downwards in sympathy, “but it’s my duty. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“It’s not about what I want. My duty is to the Order.” If only it wasn’t so, if only there was another way... but. He knew this would only end in misery, and here they are, tugging off the thread tying them together. “Should I... should I leave you to your preparations?”

“Maker, no,” Sebastian’s fingers wrap around Cullen’s shoulder, “the last thing I want is for you to leave me alone.” He implores with those sea-spray eyes, plays a card so hard to resist. “Please, stay the night.”

And what would be the point of refusing now? He nods, and rests his head on Sebastian’s shoulder. His heart is already broken.

  


* * *

  


Sebastian’s skin is velvet against him: smooth, warm, and soft under his touch. Their wet cheeks rub as Sebastian rides, fingers gripping Cullen’s hair, pulling him ever closer. Oh, but Cullen is inside of him, buried snug in Sebastian’s heat, and still it isn’t close enough. Could never be enough.

The deeper he goes, the blurrier his eyes get; he sees barely anything, but he hears Sebastian’s moans against his ear, feels the way he trembles when Cullen bottoms out. 

He holds the round muscles he had tried to forget, branding shape and feel to memory. Never forget this. Never forget how Sebastian says his name tonight. 

“C-cullen, love,” he cries, clamping like a vice around Cullen, “so close.” 

Sebastian smells like sweat and incense, sounds like a song and a desperate prayer, tastes like tears and cinnamon on Cullen’s tongue. Cullen slides a finger down his crease, feeling where they connect, and a sob breaks free from his chest. 

He loves, and it doesn’t change anything.

In a fit of impotent anger, he kisses his love with bruising force, drives in hard and deep. “Don’t—” he growls, “leave me.” 

“I have—” Sebastian yelps as Cullen pushes him onto his back, “no choice.” 

Sebastian’s legs circle around Cullen’s waist, pulling him in, and Cullen sinks greedily back inside. Makes a cage out of his arms, trapping Sebastian with him, pinning him with his body. Tears break from his eyes, and Maker, Sebastian is a beautiful mess under him: lips bitten, hair fanned on the pillow, glossy eyes begging. 

And Cullen understands. If only he didn’t, he could stay angry. 

He finds mercy within him; his hand travels to the one spot where Sebastian is hard and unforgiving, pulling the length in time with his pistoning thrusts. When Sebastian comes, he kisses him — gently, this time — and swallows his cries, sealing them inside his heart. 

  


* * *

  


Cullen’s sword and shield lay on the stone floor of the Gallows, bloody light reflecting off the surface. Just beyond, what remains of Meredith flashes in brilliant reds, radiating hope and terror alike. He swipes his forehead, surveying their losses; corpses wearing armour and cloth litter the grounds in equal measure. 

It’s all gone so spectacularly wrong. 

A weight settles on his pauldron, and he turns. Blue eyes reflect his horror, troubled and wet. Like last night, when Cullen had him writhing beneath him, singing his name. 

Maker, was it only last night?

“Sebastian,” he’s about to plead, to offer his condolences, but lips muffle his with a kiss. It tastes bittersweet; like tears and cinnamon, with a seasoning of ambiguous promises. When Sebastian pulls away, reality hits him like a mace to the head: this is goodbye, and all he can do is hear it.

“Cullen, my love,” sea-spray eyes implore him, search his in despair, “I will find you again, one way or another.” His fingers lift Cullen’s chin, trembling, “Do you hear me? I love you.”

Cullen manages a weak, futile smile. “I love you, too.”

It doesn’t change anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments (of all shapes and sizes) and kudos always welcome; they make my day. <3


End file.
